


Excelsior!

by Saone



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saone/pseuds/Saone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When in Rome, do as the Romans. When on an undesignated planet in the multi-verse, well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excelsior!

**Author's Note:**

> I started this back in November, and it was what I originally came up with for the superhero AU prompt at Livejournal's losers_minibang. Since this fic ended up having nothing to do with the actual prompt, I shelved it and have been working on it bit by bit over the past few months. So, if the codenames are somewhat familiar, it's because I reused them. Codenames are _hard_.

"Holy fuckballs!"

The rest of the team, including Aisha - having at some point gotten used to Jensen's random outbursts of enthusiasm, derision, and out and out blabbering - tended to ignore their techie when he was surfing the net. Nine times out of ten he was just getting himself worked up over spoilers for his favorite television shows, and while everyone, including Aisha, could admit that Doctor Who was indeed awesome, no one needed a twenty minute diatribe on the true nature of River Song.

Of course, there's always that tenth time...

"Guys! Seriously, this... just... Guys!" Jensen's leaning back in his chair and gesticulating wildly at his laptop. "Here. Come here. Now."

Cougar and Pooch are the most indulgent towards Jensen, but even they have a silent showdown to see who has to get up and deal with him this time.

"I'm comfortable, dammit!" Pooch whines. The abandoned house they're squatting in isn't exactly the Ritz, but it's got nice couches and an easy chair that you just sort of melt into, which is what Pooch is currently inhabiting.

Cougar cocks an eyebrow and settles deeper into his own cushion.

"Crap." Pooch struggles for a moment before managing to extract himself from the chair. "This had better be worth it, J."

Jensen's eyes are wide as Pooch rounds what used to serve as a dining table. Pooch shakes his head and leans down to get a good look at the picture on the screen. It's shaky, but the image clearly shows a man flying across a clear blue sky.

"Dude," Pooch says, smacking Jensen upside the head, "you made me get outta my chair for _that_?! What did we say about spending all your time on Youtube, huh?"

Jensen's face is as serious as it's ever been. "That's not Youtube. That's MSNBC." He hits the volume control on the keyboard.

 _"... saved countless lives, in some cases ripping car doors off and bending metal with his bare hands to reach the victims inside. Again, if you are just joining us, the news out of Metropolis is that a... man appeared seemingly out of thin air to assist rescue workers at the site of a thirty two car pile-up, and then he... Folks if we didn't have over four dozen reports and video from the scene I wouldn't believe it... He flew away. I just... Joining us now from The Daily Planet is managing editor, Perry White..."_

___________

 

Four days later answers come in the form of a press conference. Jensen's streaming the live feed and all five Losers are huddled around the laptop.

 _"My name is Kal-el. I am the last known survivor of the planet Krypton. I consider Earth to be my adoptive home, and, if you allow me, I will do everything in my power to protect her and her peoples..."_

"Aliens," Jensen breathes out. "I knew it. And you guys got all bitchy when I said I wanted to go to Area 51. Who's sad and delusional now, huh?"

___________

 

Kal-el, or Superman, as the wholly unimaginative and pandering press dubbed him, was only the first. It was as if when he came out of the cape closet he left the door open behind him, allowing a whole slew of other brightly dressed crimefighters to tumble out after.

Jensen was obsessively documenting everything he could - names, locations, weapons, costumes. When asked, and he _was_ asked, he simply stated that since they were fugitives it would do to know which cities had super-powered protectors. It was one thing to run afoul of rogue CIA agents, but it was quite another to try and go up against a guy who can shoot laser beams out of his eyeballs.

Yes, it was all about keeping his team safe. It had nothing at all to do with the new Fantasy Hero League RPG he'd found. Nope.

___________

 

"That is a completely impractical outfit for hand to hand combat, regardless of how strong she is." There's a downright scary glint in Aisha's eyes and more than once the male members of her team have had to duck away from her animated, knife-wielding hands.

"Uh huh." Clay knows that for the sake of his naughty bits he should look away from the screen and pay more attention to his girlfriend/lover/psychotic person-he-sleeps-with-who-occasionally-tries-to-kill-him. But the woman in the news clip is just so...

"I mean, it's a _bustier_ for God's sake. How can she properly throw herself into the heat of battle if she's worried her breasts are going to pop out?!"

Patriotic. The woman's really patriotic. "Breasts. Right."

"And those short-shorts? A true warrior would not choose a costume based on how it accentuates her... assets." Aisha huffs and puts her hands on her hips. "Amazonian princess, my ass."

"Ass. Yeah."

"You know I'm going to make you sleep on the floor tonight, right?"

"I figured."

___________

 

"What's the latest?"

"There's supposed to be this giant bat monster living in Gotham."

Clay pinches the bridge of his nose. "I meant on the hunt for Max, Jensen."

"Oh. Yeah. I knew that."

___________

 

"Oh, now this is just getting ridiculous!" Jensen throws his hands into the air, then punches a few keys on his laptop.

Cougar, currently the only other person in the just-this-side-of-condemned warehouse they're holed up in this week, has been dozing on and off, listening to clacking keys and Jensen's steady breaths. Intrigued, despite himself, he rolls off his pallet and crosses over to the empty crate holding Jensen's equipment.

"Look at this." Jensen points at the screen. "He calls himself 'Green Arrow'. The guy doesn't even have any powers, and you know what he uses for weapons?"

Cougar studies the picture on the screen and wonders if this is a trick question. "Arrows?"

"Yes! Dude, he's fighting modern criminals with automatic weapons by using tech straight out of Sherwood Forest. I can't figure out if the yahoo's incredibly stupid, or just really into cosplay." Jensen leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. "He's gonna die, man. I mean, if it was that easy to be a superhero then every... body... would..."

Cougar blinks and quickly turns his attention towards the techie. He knows from experience - bad, _bad_ experience - that when Jensen trails off in the middle of one of one of his rants it's because he's gotten distracted by something. And the only thing that can distract Jensen, besides shiny objects, are the scary thoughts that rise up Lovecraftian-like from the dark recesses of his mind. Those thoughts have been known to lead to violence, bloodshed, and on one memorable occasion a really kick-ass, but terrifying, weekend in Vegas.

"I wonder..." Jensen says rubbing at the hair on his chin.

"What?"

"It _could_ work... Maybe..."

Cougars eyes flit between the laptop, Jensen's 'thinky-face', and the door to freedom. " _What_?"

"The names would be the hardest part..."

"Jensen?"

"And the costumes. Oh, man, the costumes..."

Cougar slowly shakes his head. "¿Qué está entrando encendido en ese jefe loco el suyo?"

Jensen blinks a few times. "What? Oh, um, nothing," he says. "Hey, Cougs, do you think I could pull off spandex?"

___________

 

"Are you insane?" Pooch asks, peering intently into Jensen's guileless face. "Seriously, has that scary, bad place you call your brain actually broken at some point in the past few weeks and the rest of us have just been too busy with the whole vengeance thing to notice it?"

Jensen scowls. "My brain is not a scary, bad place." He looks around the room for confirmation and scowls even harder when no one meets his eyes. "Oh, fuck you guys very much." He crosses his arms over his chest and tries to put as much authority into his stance as he can. "It's a good idea," he insists.

"No, it's a crazy idea," Pooch says.

Clay grimaces. "It is a little... out there."

Cougar pulls his hat down further over his eyes.

Aisha puts her hands on her hips. "I like it."

"What?"

"Come again?"

"Que?"

Aisha raises a single eyebrow. "It's genius."

"What?!"

"Come _again_?"

"Mierda."

"Uh..." Jensen glances at the other men in the room. "I'm just as confused as you are."

"What?" Aisha shrugs. "What we've been doing - hiding underground, skulking in shadows, chasing someone who is pretty much the equivalent of a ghost - it's not working. We need to change our strategy, but our options are limited because, depending on who you ask, we're either dead or fugitives. We can't show our faces in public, but if we put on masks and silly costumes we can go anywhere we want."

"Exactly," Jensen says. "Guys, we could go out in the world again without having to look over our shoulders every ten seconds. And the odds are good that we'll find more leads on Max. There's this whole international hero community forming, and if Max has his fingers in as much evil shit as we think he does, then there has to be other people out there who have tangled with him."

"Okay," Pooch holds up one hand, "say I'm starting to see the logic hidden in the batshit; there's still one big flaw in your plan. We're _not_ superheroes. We don't have special powers or magic rings. We're not sorceresses, or Atlantian kings, or aliens. We're human."

"So's that arrow guy out of Star City," Jensen says, "and, if the latest chatter from the message boards are right, the Bat-man in Gotham."

Clay narrows his eyes. "I thought you said that was some kind of monster thing."

"Those were the original reports from the bad guys he captured. But more and more citizens are seeing him now, and they say he's just a man. A highly trained man with mad skills and awesome tech, but still, just a man."

Aisha's smile is full of promised violence. "We're highly trained."

Jensen's smile isn't much nicer. "And we have mad skills. And between me and Pooch we can come up with some pretty kick-ass tech."

Clay sighs, long and hard. "It's... not completely without merit."

"Christ." Pooch scratches at the back of his head. "Maybe I'm the one with the broken brain. Fine. I'm in."

One by one Jensen, Pooch, Aisha, and Clay turn and look inquiringly at the last person in their motley crew.

Cougar is intently studying the stained concrete at his feet. After a few long minutes he looks up, his expression stone-cold and as serious as it's ever been. "I am keeping my hat."

___________

 

Cougar does not get to keep his hat, at least not while in costume, that battle however pales in comparison to the epic fight over Jensen's goatee.

"No! No, no, no, nononononononono," Jensen cries, a protective hand wrapped firmly around the scruff on his chin. "I changed my mind; I don't want to be a hero."

Clay pinches the bridge of his nose. "You said it yourself, we need to eliminate any identifying characteristics that could lead back to our real identities, like unique headwear, or... _interesting_ facial hair."

"Cougar has facial hair!" Jensen points.

"Cougar has decided to wear a full face mask," Clay says. "Now, unless you want to do that too-"

"I'd get hives. My skin needs to _breathe_."

Clay shrugs. "Then there you go. Shave."

"But... but..." Jensen's obviously wracking his brain trying to come up with something, anything, to shore up his position. "The arrow-guy in Star City has a goatee," Jensen says desperately.

"The arrow-guy's also the _arrow-guy_ ," Pooch helpfully points out. "It's not like his self-preservation instincts are strong to begin with."

"I'll look stupid," Jensen insists.

Aisha raises an eyebrow. "More so than now?" She turns to Clay. "Maybe we should let him keep it."

"Hey!" Jensen frowns. "Or, thanks. Or, hey!"

"That's it." Clay pulls himself up to his full height and draws on his long unused 'Colonel' personality. "You're the one who came up with this idea, and consequently got us to agree this mess, and if you even think about backing out because of some pathetic attachment to something even a fifteen-year-old would be embarrassed to call a 'beard' then we are done professionally and personally because that is some dumb _ass_ shit. Now, you _will_ get yourself into that bathroom and shave, or Pooch, Cougar, and I will hold you down and let Aisha use her favorite blade to strip you of _all_ your hair. Is that understood!"

Jensen's eyes are huge. He blinks a few times. "Yessir," he says before he scurries away.

Clay lets himself deflate a bit. He glances around the room and winces at the scowls he sees. "Shut up. Like I don't feel bad enough already."

Aisha and Pooch shake their heads, and Cougar crosses his arms over his chest and delivers his best stink-eye.

"He... I..." Clay throws his hands in the air. "Christ, I need a drink."

___________

 

Jensen is MIA for the rest of the day, and when he does return he doesn't say a word to anyone. He enters the room, heads to his computer, and begins working.

"I can feel you guys staring at me," he says. "I already know I look like a tool, so just quit it, all right?" He runs his hand over the smooth, hairless skin on his chin and then up to brush over the buzzed hair on his head. He blinks a few times, trying to get used to - but still passionately hating - his new contacts.

Clay clears his throat. "Yeah. We're staring because you look like a _tool_. That's it completely." He scowls at the almost entranced look on Aisha's face. "Come on," he says, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her from the room.

"But he's so-"

"I know, I know."

"Can I just-"

"You'll hate yourself in the morning," Clay says wisely. He gets a firm hold on both of her biceps and practically duck walks her out of the room, murmuring agreements and platitudes the whole way.

Jensen stares after them. "That was weird. Hey guys, wasn't that-"

Pooch steps up to Jensen's makeshift desk. "You are no longer allowed to be with Jolene unsupervised," he announces in a strong, yet strained voice. Then he too leaves the room, shoulders hunched up around his ears.

Jensen turns to his only remaining teammate. His blue eyes are wide. "Okay, seriously, what is going on?"

Cougar opens and closes his mouth a few times, but he doesn't say anything. Finally, he shrugs. His eyes never leave Jensen.

"Fine. I know I look like an idiot, but I didn't think it was bad enough to actually drive people from the room."

"You do not look like an idiot," Cougar says, slowly, as if it almost pains him to get the words out. "You look... very... nice." He then shakes himself all over like a wet dog, and practically flies out the door.

Jensen looks around the cleared out room. "Weirdos."

___________

 

"Okay, I think I've found a guy," Aisha announces early one morning while everyone's pathetically huddled around a rather decent coffeepot Pooch had found at Goodwill.

"Stepping out on the Colonel already?" Jensen says distractedly. Most of his attention is on the mug clutched between his hands, though he's still aware enough to catch the stale doughnut that Aisha pitches at his head. "Thanks."

"I mean, I've found someone who can help with our costuming issues," she says with an irritated sigh.

That perks everybody up. What to do about their costumes had become a sticking point in the whole endeavor. All the Losers had rudimentary sewing skills and had mended everything from tents and sleeping bags, to each others skins, but creating an entire outfit was a little above their paygrade. Not to mention that you couldn't exactly expect to find Nomax and kevlar weave at the neighborhood fabric store. Aisha had taken it upon herself to, as discretely as possible, try and find out were the so-called 'capes' were getting their, well, _capes_ from.

"Excellent!" Clay rubs his hands together. "Now, we'll-"

"Not so fast," Aisha says with a grimace. "There's a... complication."

"Of course there is," Pooch mutters. He shares a long-suffering look with Cougar.

Clay slumps in his chair. "On a scale of one to almost snuking the Port of Los Angeles, how exactly complicated are we talking?"

"He calls himself the Tailor, and he operates out of Gotham." Aisha watches as the men around her wince. "Yeah."

Gotham. If there was ever a cautionary tale for the slippery slope of weirdness that came when a city got her own costumed vigilante, it was Gotham. Even Jensen, who was still gleefully geeking out over reports of every new hero and villain, wasn't too keen on the Bat's hometown.

"The cops still have that clown sicko," Jensen says, "but some other guy has already shown up, to, I don't know, fulfill their nutjob quota or something. He calls himself Killer Croc."

Pooch snorts. "Let me guess, he has pet crocodiles that he's trained to rob banks."

"Uh, no. He _looks_ like a crocodile, and he eats people."

Clay wearily rubs a hand over his face. "Of course he does."

"He comes after me, and Jolene's getting a new set of luggage," Pooch says, gesturing so emphatically some precious liquid sloshes over the rim of his mug.

Cougar purses his mouth thoughtfully. "I could use some new boots."

Jensen swallows his last bite of doughnut, and scowls, rubbing at his chest. "Could we maybe postpone the whole skinning criminals talk until after breakfast?" He waves off the round of half-hearted apologies. "Anyway, we have another major problem, one that needs to be addressed before we even think about heading to Gotham."

"Oh, God," Clay groans, "now what?"

"Names, guys," Jensen says, eyes sparking with delight. "We need to think up our names."

___________

 

"This is stupid," Aisha says, a seemingly permanent glare etched onto her features. "You're stupid." She points at Jensen. "That's stupid." She points at Jensen's whiteboard. "This is all _stupid_." She waves her arms, clearly indicating the entire room and possibly everything in it.

"Your face is stupid," Jensen says, then he yelps and tries to hide behind Cougar as Aisha takes a few threatening steps forward.

"Children," Clay growls.

Jensen waits until Aisha has backed down before standing up straight and giving Cougar an apologetic pat on the shoulder. "Right," he says, moving back to his definitely _not_ stupid whiteboard. "I know some of you are mentally stunted, and aren't able to grasp the importance of-"

"That's it!" Aisha lunges, blade already in her hand, but Cougar's faster, and he's between her and Jensen before the others can even blink.

"Aisha, you have to learn to ignore Jensen," Clay says, "I do."

"Me too," Pooch admits.

Cougar shrugs and nods.

"Hell, _I_ ignore me half the time," Jensen pipes in from behind Cougar's hat.

"I know, I know!" Aisha tightens the grip on her knife. "I just... ARGH! I just want to carve up his pretty face!" Her rage quickly morphs into horror. "Wait, I-"

"You think I'm pretty?" Jensen pops his head around Cougar's shoulder.

"No! I didn't mean-"

"You just said I was pretty."

"But, I-"

"It's okay," Jensen says solemnly, "I suddenly understand all that misplaced anger."

"Clay?" Aisha looks desperately towards the older man.

Clay looks heavenward. "Was I _that_ horrible in a previous life? Really?" He sighs. "Aisha, sit down and stop threatening Jensen. Jensen, get on with your presentation and stop goading Aisha. And I swear to God, if the two of you don't settle down I'm getting the tranq darts out. I am too fucking old to be a nanny."

"Wouldn't that be _manny_ ," Pooch says with a transparently faux air of innocence.

Clay glares. "I will put you down right beside them. Jensen," he barks, "get on with it!"

"Right." Jensen steps back to his whiteboard. "It's important that we come up with our names before we go to see the Tailor, and before any of you ask, I'll tell you why." Jensen uncaps one of his erasable markers, takes a deep sniff - it's blueberry scented - and starts writing. "Superman. Wonder Woman. Aquaman." He turns to survey his class. "Can any of you tell me what these monikers have in common?"

The other Losers share bewildered glances.

Pooch opens his mouth.

"That was rhetorical," Jensen says sharply. "I'll tell you what they all have in common; they're all lame." He uses the marker to tap on the board. " _Super_ man? _Wonder_ Woman? Come _on_. It's ridiculous."

Clay slaps a hand to his face. "You're worried about sounding lame?" he asks wearily.

"Yes! It's all about perception, guys. The public needs to think we're cool, and villains need to know we're not to be messed with. Imagine if I'm called Computer Man. Would you guys fear me? Would you think twice about going up against me in a fight, or causing trouble in my neighborhood? No. And you know why?"

Pooch opens his mouth again.

"That was also rhetorical. Because it sounds dumb, that's why." Jensen writes D-U-M-B on the whiteboard and circles it. Then circles it a few more times for good measure.

Pooch crosses his arms. "I just don't think it's that big a deal, okay? Let the media name us, what's the worse they can do?"

Jensen sighs. "I didn't want to do this, man." He writes something on his board.

"Black lightning?" Pooch frowns. "What's black lightning?"

" _Who_ is Black Lightning?" Jensen corrects.

"Fine. _Who_ is Black Lightning?"

"A black guy who controls electricity."

"Son of a bitch." Pooch spins towards Clay. "We are _not_ letting the media name us! I am not going to spend my entire superhero career as... as... Black Really-Good-With-Engines-Guy. Hell no."

"Yeah," Clay says, "I admit it; we need to come up with our own names."

Jensen nearly vibrates from excitement. "Awesome! I've already got mine picked out." He writes his name on the board, and then a dash, and then another word.

"Binary?" Pooch says. "Isn't that-"

"The language of all modern computers." Jensen grins. "What better codename for a techno-genius?"

"Uh huh. And what about the rest of us?"

"Everybody should try and come up with their own, but if all else fails then I do have some..." Jensen tries and fails to hide the squirrely look that comes over his face, "suggestions."

Aisha scowls and fingers her blade.

Jensen beams.

Clay checks his watch. "We leave for Gotham at oh six-hundred. We've got 'til then to come up with our new names."

"And costume ideas!" Jensen pipes up.

"Let me guess," Pooch says dryly, "you've already got yours all figured out."

Jensen shrugs. "We don't know what the Tailor is gonna be able to do and what he's not gonna be able to do, but it wouldn't hurt to have some kind of template for him to work from."

Clay rubs a hand over his face. "You know it freaks me out when you make too much sense, right?"

"Yeah," Jensen says fondly.

"'Kay." Clay claps his hands together. "Oh six-hundred. Names and costumes. Get on it."

_____________

 

"Gearshaft!" Pooch announces proudly, several hours later.

Jensen snorts. "You just want people to call you 'Shaft."

"Can you dig it?"

"Shut yo' mouth."

"Just talking 'bout Gearshaft!"

"I will gut both of you," Aisha calls out from across the room, "like two particularly annoying fish."

"Jeez."

"Fine."

_____________

 

Aisha glares at Jensen and seems almost personally affronted to be anywhere near his whiteboard. "Saber."

Jensen raises his eyebrows. "Saber? As in a long, curved sword? That kind of Saber?"

"Yes."

Jensen writes the name on the board. "Can I ask?"

Aisha pauses. "It goes back to those childhood hobbies we talked about."

_____________

 

"Sorry, dude, there's already somebody out there called Deadshot. He's a villain."

Cougar says a few choice words under his breath. "What if I kill him? Could I then claim his name?"

"Uh, Cougs, are we going to have to have a talk about the whole 'hero' thing?"

Cougar says a few more choice words. "What about Dead Aim?"

Jensen raises a doubtful eyebrow.

"Dead Center?"

"Cougs-"

"Dead-"

"Caliber!" Jensen says quickly. "What about Caliber?"

Cougar thinks it over, testing the word in his head and in his mouth. His lips quirk upwards just a tiny bit, and he nods.

Jensen writes the name on the board.

_____________

 

Night has fallen by the time Jensen goes looking for Clay. The older man's leaning against Pooch's latest acquisition - some Godawful late-nineties minivan - idly flicking his lighter and staring up at what they can see of the stars through the nearby city's light pollution.

Jensen clears his throat. "Clay? It's getting late, and you're the only one I haven't heard from yet."

Clay smiles, but it's a twisted, bitter thing. "He would have hated this."

Jensen doesn't need to ask which 'he' Clay's referring to. For a moment Jensen is completely still, torn between leaving Clay to his thoughts and offering support which would likely be turned down. To Jensen's knowledge, he and Pooch had been the only ones to talk about what had happened. About the betrayal. When Jensen had tried to get Cougar to open up about it, he had been shot down so spectacularly that the memory of it still stings a bit, even after the passage of time and a heartfelt, if quiet, apology from the sniper.

"I'm trying to imagine him dealing with all of it," Clay says.

Jensen takes a chance and lets himself lean against the van too.

"The names. The costumes. Jesus, Roque in spandex." Clay shakes his head. "Now there's a thought."

"Scary thought," Jensen says with a not entirely put on shudder.

Clay snorts. "Yeah."

"He would have hated the whiteboard."

"And threatened to do interesting things to you involving the markers."

"Heh. Yeah."

Clay takes a deep breath, his eyes firmly fixed on the night sky. "I'm sorry."

"Wha-"

"For getting you men into this mess. For not leading you like I should have."

Jensen frowns. He's not genetically opposed to sharing and caring time like some other members of the team, but seeing his commanding officer - _former_ commanding officer - with such raw distress in his tone and on his face, makes something twist rather unpleasantly inside. This is all Roque's fault, and Jensen once again damns the dead man to the deepest pits of Orodruin.

"You didn't get us into this mess," Jensen says with a strength he doesn't necessarily feel, "Max did. And if you had led us differently then we would have died I don't know how many times, not to mention the fact that a good chunk of Los Angeles would be missing. Colonel, sorry, _Clay_ , you-"

"That's it." Clay's face turns toward Jensen. His eyes are glittering and there's a welcomed smirk on his mouth.

Jensen flounders a bit. "Um..."

"Colonel."

"Yeah?"

"That's my name."

"Oh... kay."

"My codename, Jensen," Clay says slowly. "Call me Colonel."

Jensen lets Clay's decision roll around in his mind for a few seconds. It's nice to think that this might be a sign that Clay's getting some of his mojo back, but... "You don't think that's a bit on the nose?"

"I think that what you said about perception was right. It's not enough to _be_ a leader, I need to be perceived as one, even before people meet me. Calling on the military hierarchy should do that quite nicely."

"You don't think anyone might put two and two together and-"

"What, come up with Franklin Clay? He's dead, remember? We all are. The only person who knows our real names and that we're still alive is Max. And if he exposes us, he'd risk exposing himself."

Jensen blinks rapidly. His mind's processors suddenly whirring to life at top speed, caught on Clay's second sentence. "Can't believe I didn't think about that," he murmurers.

"Think about what?"

"It wouldn't be easy. There'd be a lot of cyber tape to slice through."

"Jensen?"

"We'd have to find a good forger. And there would be more names to think up."

" _Corporal?_

"Huh?" Jensen focuses on Clay. "Yessir?"

Clay looks indulgently amused. "Do I want to know what's going on in that crazy head of yours?"

Jensen thinks. "Not yet." He holds up a hand when it looks like Clay might press him. "Just give me a little while to see if what I'm thinking can pan out."

Clay peers at him, then nods. "All right."

"Thanks." Jensen claps his hands together. "So! Now that you've got a name, have you given any thought to your color scheme?"

_____________

 

"Wow."

"Yeah."

Gotham City looms in the near distance. With it's towering buildings, and Gothic spires, and overall pervading sense of _doom_ , it looks just as foreboding as the Losers had imagined it. They're staying away from the city proper for now, having holed up in an abandoned warehouse on the other side of the Gotham River. Clay and Aisha are off doing things better left un-thought about, and Cougar's close enough that Jensen can feel the sniper's gaze on him, but it's only he and Pooch outside at the moment.

"Second thoughts?"

Jensen snorts. "Please. You?"

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Hell yeah."

"Why?"

Pooch puts on his best 'bitch, please' face. "We did listen to the same newscast earlier, right? You know, the one where the lead story was about the guy with the freeze ray. These are the people we're setting ourselves up to go against here, J. Motherfuckin' psychos with their freakass freeze rays."

"Actually, from my research, I think Batman is very territorial about his city, so the chance of us professionally running into one of Gotham's villains, outside of the Tailor's shop, is relatively low."

Pooch simply stares at Jensen for a long moment. He then reaches over and smacks the back of the blond's head hard enough to displace his glasses. There's a rustle from about a hundred feet behind them as Cougar makes his presence known.

"Ow!" Jensen fixes his glasses, and gingerly touches the back of his head. He glares at Pooch. "What the fuck was that for?!"

Pooch is unrepentant. "What did you just say?"

"What'd you hit me for?"

"What did you just say, Jensen?!"

Cougar's drawing closer, but staying silent.

"I said..." The blood drains from Jensen's face as he replays his earlier words. "Oh, crap."

"Uh huh." Pooch puts his hands on his hips. "So, what are our chances now, Jinx?"

"Um, there's no scientific proof that saying something won't happen means the universe will make it happen."

"Yeah, and there's no scientific proof that saying words backwards causes them to come true, but it sure as hell works for that magician lady with the fishnets and the awesome legs." Pooch holds up a hand and takes a deep breath. "I am going to go inside, and call my wife, and coo at my little boy, and try and suppress the fact that we are most likely going to meet some horrible, awful, _undignified_ demise tomorrow while getting fitted for our spandex supersuits. Jesus Christ. Fuck my life."

Jensen watches Pooch stalk back into the building, then he turns his wide eyes towards Cougar. "You don't think-"

"I think," Cougar says "now that we know there are more things in heaven and earth, you might try to not tempt the fates so much, hmmm?"

"Well, yeah, but what's the worst that could hap-" Jensen doesn't get a chance to to further compromise the team's good fortunes because his mouth is too busy being thoroughly kissed. For a few long seconds he doesn't react, then his lizard brain rises up and wrests control from his wibbling consciousness. His arms stop flailing and wrap solidly around Cougar, bringing the smaller man up flush to his body.

"Cougs," Jensen says softly, reverently, when he comes up for air.

"Is this all right?"

"Yeah, it's..." Jensen pulls back as far as he can without actually letting Cougar go. "You didn't just do that to get me to shut up, did you?"

"Of course not. That is merely a beneficial side-effect."

"Funny."

One side of Cougar's mouth goes up. "I thought so." He leans in for another kiss but Jensen turns his head away before they can connect. "Jake?"

Jensen shakes his head slightly. He's still got his arms around Cougar, though his hold has relaxed a bit. "I apologize in advance for the chick flick-i-ness of the next few moments, and I promise we'll do something suitably John McClane-ish to make up for it, but I gotta know what this is. Are we fuck buddies, or teammates with benefits, or... is this the start of something, you know, _more_? 'Cause I'm okay with anything, really." He shakes his head. "And wow, did that sound pathetic."

Cougar purses his lips and studies the blond for a few long moments. "What would you like this to be?"

"I asked you first."

Cougar huffs out a laugh. "I would... be happy with whatever you are willing to give me."

Jensen's face lights up. "Seriously? You're serious?"

"Yes. Very."

"I... okay then. We should probably have an in depth conversation and talk about our feelings, and where this is going, and our hopes for the future as responsible adults."

"Hmmm. Yes. After we have sex," Cougar says firmly.

"Look at us," Jensen says, his hands steadily drifting towards Cougar's ass, "already so in sync."

_____________

 

"Hey, J, where's the OH MY GOD! WHY WOULD YOU-- Great, now I'm blind. The Pooch is blind."

"Well, the Pooch needs to learn to knock, doesn't he?!"

_____________

The next morning finds Clay, clad only in his underwear, standing on a short pedestal while a small man of indeterminate age and origin menaces him with a tape measure. He's cold, and his balls itch.

"Arms out," the Tailor says, more authoritative than any Drill Sergent.

Clay obeys.

"So," the Tailor says, making a few notations in a tiny, black notebook, "your team has a very... _interesting_ dynamic."

"That's one way to put it."

The Tailor peers at him from above thick bifocals. "Villains or anti-heroes?"

"Why not just heroes?"

The Tailor raises a bushy eyebrow. "Have you met the people on your team?"

Clay sighs. "Anti-heroes."

"Hmmm, yes." The Tailor makes a few more notes. "And the, uh, blond one, is he..." the man pauses, pursing his mouth, obviously searching for the right word.

Clay waits. He knows from experience there are a lot of possible ways to describe Jensen.

"Not quite right?" the Tailor says.

"Pretty much, yeah."

_____________

 

" _Street-light... peeeople... livin' just to find e-mo-tion..._ " Jensen sings softly under his breath as he bops his way from the area he and Cougar had claimed down to the warehouse's small breakroom. He's wearing his boots, to protect his feet, his boxers, to protect his dangley bits from Aisha's wrath should he encounter her, and a big-ass grin because Cougar had just rocked his world. All in all, he's in his happy place and feeling no pain, which is why he really should have expected something to go wrong.

Jensen's opened the ancient refrigerator that Pooch had tinkered back to functionality when, without any kind of warning, a strong hand grabs the back of his neck. He barely has time to feel alarmed before his face is being slammed into the freezer door. Hard. His forehead takes the brunt of the impact.

"Motherfucker!" Jensen braces his arms against the 'fridge and, using his not inconsiderable upper body strength, he pushes back against his assailant while at the same time twisting his body around to break the hold. Jensen ducks and pivots and is on the other side of the room, arms up in a defensive posture and ready to _throw down_ , when he realizes just who had broken into their little hideout.

It's the Batman.

"Oh, my God," Jensen says, blinking rapidly. "Can I have your autograph?"

It's Batman's turn to blink. He recovers more quickly than Jensen. "Who are you?" the vigilante growls. "Why are you here?"

"I'm Jensen, and I wanted a beer."

Batman blinks again, and Jensen can't help but feel a little proud of himself.

The big, scary, nightmare man takes a menacing step forward. "I know you and your team went to see the Tailor. I've been watching you and-"

"Wait, you've been _watching_ me?" Jensen folds his arms across his chest. "Like, all the time, or... Because you'd think I'd be down with that, but I'm not down with that. Some things between a man, and another man, and a cowboy hat are private, you know?"

Batman stares at him. He's really good at it, and has the whole non-blinking thing down pat.

Jensen tries to hold out, but he starts to fidget. "All right, fine! We're a group of ex-special forces soldiers who were accused of a crime we didn't commit - and yes, I get the A-Team comparison, thank you - by this evil, megalomaniacal, C.I.A. super-spook who has done some really, horrible, awful things, up to and including almost destroying the port of Los Angeles, and we came to Gotham so we could get fitted out in vigilante wear and be free to pursue his psychopathic ass without fear of getting, you know, arrested on sight." Jensen takes a much needed breath. "So, we're on the same side, or whatever."

Batman narrows his eyes. "When the Tailor's finished, you and your team will leave Gotham, and I don't want to see you here again. Understood?"

Jensen holds his gaze. "We go where Max goes. And trust me, if he comes here, you'll want to know about it." Jensen keeps up the staring contest for as long as he can, but after a minute and a half he starts to tear up. "Ugh!" He reaches up to rub at his stinging eyes. "Dammit. It's the contacts, I swear. Hey, you didn't, like, record any of those times you were _watching us_ , did you? Because that's really wrong. And I might want copies." When he doesn't get a response, Jensen stops pawing at himself and opens his bleary eyes. The breakroom's empty; Batman's gone.

"Yeah, that's right," Jensen sniffs, "you'd better run."

_____________

 

Two days later, after some intense rooftop watching, the Losers have their costumes and are packing. They don't have any set destination in mind - Jensen's online searches have been distressingly low in yielding new info about Max's whereabouts - but they are going to take a certain scary man's 'advice' and get the hell outta Dodge.

Jensen watches his teammates - his family - bicker good-naturedly over the right way to put their belongings in the van and where to head next. He clears his throat. "I think we should decide on a base of operations."

Clay frowns. "A base? You mean-"

"A permanent place for us to work out of," Jensen says. "We'll travel when we're going after Max, of course, but for what we want to accomplish, for Pooch and I to develop some really awesome toys, we're gonna need to be in one place."

Pooch looks thoughtful. The others look skeptical.

"No," Clay says firmly. "I'm sorry, but there's too much of a risk."

"Not if we're not us anymore," Jensen says.

Aisha's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"Clay, you said it yourself. We're dead. We were incinerated. There was nothing left but bones and teeth, and, as far as we know, only Aisha was psycho enough to count them." Jensen holds up a hand and flashes a smile towards the frowning little nutjob. "And, by 'psycho', I mean you look really pretty this morning."

Aisha snorts and looks at Clay. "Are you sure I can't kill him?"

"Yes," Cougar says, glaring.

"Anyway, I realized that we were looking at this whole thing the wrong way," Jensen says. "That instead of trying to _reclaim_ the past, we need to _claim_ the future."

"That was very motivational," Pooch says. "Now, what the everlovin' hell are you talking about?"

Jensen huffs. "I'm talking about the fact that we're all dead. Even if - _when_ \- we find and neutralize Max our previous identities aren't coming back. You guys know that, right?" He waits for the reluctant nods, then says, "So, that means we need to make new ones."

Pooch gets it first. "You want us to have secret identities. What, like, Peter Parker or something?"

"Peter Parker has a real life outside of Spiderman" Jensen shrugs. "We could have real lives too. You, Jolene, your kid. I'm not saying there won't be risks involved, and we'll have to be careful, but you'll be able to watch him grow up, man."

"So what," Aisha sneers, "you expect us to get nine to five jobs and a mortgage?"

"Actually, part of me would love to see you in an office setting just for the carnage factor, and if you'd rather live in an elaborate underground lair, or a bell tower, or something, that's up to you." Jensen shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Aisha, Clay, Cougs, I don't know what you guys would do with new, clean identities, but, for me, I'm gonna use it to stop running."

Clay stares at him, his gaze dark and heavy. After a couple of tense moments he sighs. "I guess I am getting a little too old to sleep on the floors of abandoned buildings."

Aisha looks at him thoughtfully. "I wasn't going to mention it, but your joints have been creaking a distressing amount recently." She cocks her head to one side, a frighteningly pleasant look stealing over her face. "I could get a cat."

"You like cats?" Pooch asks, doubt clear in his tone.

"I admire their hunting prowess." Aisha pokes Clay hard between two ribs. "You would take care of the litter box."

"Wait, what?"

Jensen tunes out the burgeoning domestic squabble and turns to Cougar. "What about you?"

For a minute all Cougar does is regard him steadily from under the brim of his hat. Then, he puts Jensen out of his misery and says, "I will go where you go. Always."

"Awww." Pooch, wide-eyed, slaps a hand over his mouth. "I did _not_ just make that sound," he says from between his fingers. "You can't prove it, and I will deny everything."

Aisha starts to say something probably sarcastic, and biting, and _her_ , when her attention shifts to the sky above Pooch's head. The almost comical look of shock on her face has Jensen and the others tensing and raising their own eyes. Jensen feels every hair stand on end.

It's the alien. The Superman. He's descending from the sky, his red cape fluttering behind him.

Jensen's hands twitch, but what would be the point of grabbing any kind of weapon?

Superman comes to a stop and simply hovers a few feet off the ground. His smile is disarming, as is the polite tone of voice as he says, "hello."

Clay clears his throat. "Hi," he says weakly.

The other Losers murmur their own greetings. Jensen waves.

If the alien has any clue of the discomfort he's causing, he's not showing it. "I'm sorry," Superman says pleasantly, "normally I like to get to know people before I ask them for favors, but I'm afraid we just don't have that kind of time at the moment."

Aisha's recovered from her momentary awe. There's nothing but suspicion in her voice as she asks, " _you_ want a favor from _us_ "

Superman descends even further, and when his feet touch concrete he looks Aisha in the eye and smiles.

Jensen can't help but wonder if one of his powers includes producing some kind of other-worldly type of pheromone because, with that one curl of lips and flash of teeth, five hardened soldiers just kind of... _melt_.

"A mutual..." Superman pauses, "acquaintance of ours told me that you might be able to assist with a problem in Metropolis."

Jensen's doubtful, yet giddy. Superman wants their help! "What makes you think we could help with one of _your_ problems?" Jensen squeaks as those electric blue eyes turn to him.

"Because," Superman says, "my problem - Metropolis' problem - is named Max."

_____________

end


End file.
